


Clockwork

by jungian_affair



Category: A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: A Clockwork Orange AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gang Violence, Gen, M/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungian_affair/pseuds/jungian_affair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is baddiwad. Teenage gang violence is in. Based on the book by Anthony Burgess, <b><i>A Clockwork Orange.</i></b> Stylised elements taken from Stanley Kubrick's film adaption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. - A Humble Narrator

I was in my room, neatly folding my shirts, trousers, neezhnies and socks, and all the other necessities I’d be like, needing now that the summer break had ended. The old man called out, all loud and demanding like he might somehow earn my respect in the process. I figured he wanted me to hurry up, but I was in no rush. School was just not my thing, you see. Now you might be wondering why I need pack for school, my brothers and sisters, but this was no ordinary skolliwoll, and I was no ordinary malchick. Charles Xavier, since you’re wondering. You’d figure that with all that deng they threw at me - the fancy tutors, the music lessons, real proper etiquette - that I would be a well behaved young chap; however, at the ripe age of seventeen I had already been sucked in and spat out of four reform schools, and I had been none the wiser with each one that gave up on me. I had been told this new school was tough - a right challenge my pee had said - but I wasn’t one to be intimidated easily. Em and pee had moved us from England to Westchester, New York in the hope of a fresh start for their dear little Charlie. So far, all that had done was find me a real horrorshow set of pals to be getting around with. I heard him call a second time before the bedroom door swung open, but it wasn’t my father I saw standing in the doorway. 

“Hi, hi,” I greeted in a cheery manner, earning a look of disdain from my new probation officer, Mr. Howlett. “How are you today, Sir?” I asked, using the posh sort of goloss that the starries really liked. 

“Move it,” he barked, immune to my charms. I felt a right sense of irritation, not liking to be ignored even by someone I cared so little about, but I kept a smile on my rot and continued my packing. 

“I won’t be long, Sir,” I said, “just finishing up.” I couldn’t pony how a beastly moodge like that could have gotten a job working for a posh reform school like St. Alexanders. He had a real scruffy look to him, all stubble and messy hair, wearing a brown two-piece suit with a mustard tie to boot. He was hardly dressed in the height of fashion, but I figured that’s not why they kept him around. I didn’t like the way Howlett watched me. He had this sort of way of looking right through you, like he viddied all the things you had ever done wrong and he had all the knowledge he needed to see the sort of veck you were. He gave me one last judgmental look and stepped out of the room. I made use of his absence by slipping a nozh (a knife, that is) down the back of my boot before I zipped up my bag and went to say goodbye to my parents. 

Em was already crying when I goolied into the living room, but I batted not a lash. I didn’t see why she should cry because I was leaving when she had agreed to send me off. Pee looked stern, but I knew better than to think he was actually still cross with me. All it took was a malenky smile from me to him, and he was soon crying like em. He threw his arms around me, hugging tight enough to lift me off the ground. Still alive and breathing when he let go, I gave him a firm handshake to like, show him how much of a mature young veck I was. “Take care of mum,” I said, and he nodded in response. That seemed to spark em up again, and as I gave her a kiss on the top of her gulliver, I could see Mr. Howlett getting more impatient with me. I would be lying if I said that didn’t bring me some small sense of joy, and I made an effort of cuddling em until he finally could have it no longer. 

“We’re going,” Howlett said, taking my bag with him as he walked out the front door. I took off after him real skorry, snatching at the bag and telling him to be careful because I had breakable things in there and such. He shrugged me off and tossed the bag into the boot of his car, and I had to mumble my appy-polly-loggies to Cerebra. The most important thing you need to know about Cerebra is that I loved her too much to leave her behind, and that if she bit you, you’d snuff it within a few hours. You might wonder how two loving parents could let their son own a pet like that, but I had convinced the oldies that Cerebra was actually a milk snake. They look much the same to coral snakes (for that’s what she really was), but those ones weren’t poisonous. Cerebra was in one of the compartments of my travel bag. I pitied her in that moment, but figured the trip to St. Alex’s was not that long for it to be of a concern. Climbing into the passenger seat, I gave Mr. Howlett my signature smile, which didn’t go down too well. 

“Let’s get this straight,” he began, and I slooshied all attentively to like, not give the impression that I was disrespecting him. “I know what you’re like,” he said, glazzies fixed on me, “I’ve read your file.” If I was supposed to be concerned, I didn’t show it. I knew what they had on me, and frankly it wasn’t even half of what I got up to. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I began, acting all concerned, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was trying to pull the wool over your eyes. I know I’ve done my parents wrong, and now I’m just hoping this new start will set things straight.” He narrowed his glazzies, and on the inside I had to commend him for not falling for my little act. 

“Cut the bullshit, kid,” he said, turning on the ignition. “I’ve dealt with ones tougher than you. I’ll have you licking the heel of my boot before we’re done.” He pulled out of the driveway real skorry, and I didn’t bother to reply. I spun around to wave goodbye to my em and pee. When they were no more than specs in the rear view mirror, I turned my attention out the okno to viddy all the posh estates as we set off for St. Alex’s. I didn’t mind it here, but the lewdies were more refined where I came from. They had a real appreciation for a young veck that could carry himself in the way I did. ‘Such a good boy,’ they would remark, ‘a real fine lad.’ They hadn’t the slightest clue that I was the same chelloveck robbing the stores they would read about in the morning gazetta. I liked to make my own way, even if that meant tolchocking some sorry sod in an alleyway just to nick off with his pretty polly. It wasn’t like I needed the cutter, because trust me, I had pockets full; but money wasn’t everything. There was something I enjoyed much more, O my brothers, and that was what we liked to call the old ultra-violence. I had gained much since moving to the States. In fact, I had formed a shaika. There was Hank, who I had found ogling some pretty young devotchkas, seeming to have no intention of making any moves on them. It was easy enough to convince him to join, as he seemed to be wanting guidance ─ something your humble narrator had to give in bucketloads. Then there was Alex who wasn’t the brightest lad, for I had found him outside the rozzshop after he had been loveted doing a daytime robbery in a crowded street! Gloopy as he may be, he made up for what he lacked in mozgs with brawn. Darwin had been the last addition to our group, a real smart young veck, much like Hank. He had a lot more initiative, but sometimes I thought he might have had too much of it. Us lads would always meet at nochy, for that was the best time to be getting up to the sort of mischief that we enjoyed. We’d pick some fine mesto, order some drinks to peet and govereet about what we might do with the evening. Everyone would share their opinions, but it was I, their valiant leader, who would really say what goes. We would meet again that evening, for I figured I’d have no trouble sneaking out of skolliwoll after lights-out to go see my faithful droogies at our favourite mesto. Mr. Howlett turned on the radio, playing some gloopy warble that only starries would listen to. I resisted the urge to say something sarky because I had to keep him on my good side, but the music made me want him to snuff it already.

It felt like too long by the time we pulled up at St. Alexanders, and I blamed Mr. Howlett’s country warbles for that, or maybe the fact that he nuked like rotten cancer sticks and I hadn’t been able to wind down the okno. I let myself out of the car, slowly making my way to the boot so that I could fetch my case. Mr. Howlett had already started to gooly towards the building, and I followed after him with a slight spring to my step. I glanced over what would soon become home, and I wish you could viddy it now. It looked like some starry castle and nothing short, all sandstone walls with too many conjoined building to commit to memory. The only thing I could make out so far was the front cantora, clearly labeled by gold lettering above the door. There was no other nadsats getting around, and something about that made me feel a malenky bit poogly. When I moved my glazzies in front, I saw that there was some chelloveck standing by the front steps. Mr. Howlett had stopped to govereet, and I figured by the way they were acting that he had to be someone important. I joined Mr. Howlett’s side, waiting for some sort of introduction, but when none came I stuck my rooker out to greet the veck myself. 

“Charles Xavier,” I said, and he looked a malenky bit amused by that. When no shake came I let my arm drop. There an awkward tension, something I wasn’t very familiar with, so I pretended I was trying to wipe a bit of fluff off my pletcho. 

“I know,” the man said, a real air of authority about his goloss. I could tell by the way he viddied me that he thought himself better, and I no more than an unruly malchick to be straightened out. He would be in for a rude shock if he thought that possible. 

“And who are you?” I asked, a little impatient, and soon both were laughing at me. When I finally got my reply, it was from Mr. Howlett. 

“That’s your principal,” he said, viddying to see my reaction. I gave him none. So this was Mr. Shaw, the man who I would be answering to whenever I was loveted doing something wrong. He seemed normal enough, wearing a pair of otchkies with real starry wire frames and what looked like an expensive navy suit. He kept a neat pencil moustache on his litso and had gelled and combed his voloss to the side. Everything about him seemed traditional, and I couldn’t help but think that made me a threat. 

“I’ll be seeing you around, Charles,” he said with a smile that let me see all his pearly whites, his amusement never leaving his glazzies. 

“Hopefully not for the wrong reasons, Sir,” said I, not wanting to start off on the wrong noga. When he left for his car I told myself that I would avoid him at all costs. 

“Front office,” barked Mr. Howlett, shoving me forwards. I gave one last glance towards the building that would no doubt become my prison and begrudgingly made my way to the front cantora.


	2. - St. Alexander's

So there I was, standing in the front cantora with my rookers in my pockets, waiting for some chap to show his litso so that I could be given the proper introduction to St. Alexander’s. I wasn’t sure why Mr. Howlett wasn’t going to do it himself, but when a malchick not too much older than yours truly stepped into the cantora, I figured they were already trying to make me fit in. “Mr. Cassidy,” the ptitsa behind the front desk began, all stern and whatnot, “we’ve been waiting.” Contrary to what I was expecting, this Cassidy kid merely tilted his gulliver back and gave her the blankest look I ever did see.

“Sean,” he then said, holding his rooker out to me. I took a moment to viddy him. He had a dazed look in his glazzies that seemed permanent, light freckles all over his litso, and a ginger mop of luscious glory atop it all. 

“Charles,” I replied, giving his rooker a firm shake. “Dost thou wish to show me around this fine mesto?” I asked, rookers in my pockets once more. 

As we goolied the grounds, Sean pointed out each building and briefly explained the veshches that would be happening there. First there was the refectory, or as they called it, ‘the refect.’ This was where you would go to eat, my brothers and sisters. I figured by how many tables there were that this mesto was pretty busy when it came to meal time. There was this starry fat baboochka, with lines all over her broad litso, setting the tables with trays of plates and cutlery. She looked like the sort to spit in your pishcha if you rubbed her the wrong way, and so I gave her a curt nod and a smile. She didn’t return it, but took an extra long moment to viddy me before she left for the kitchen. 

“You line up here,” said Sean, gesturing to the wall, “and then the person at the front of the line says grace.” Now I wasn’t very religious, nor were me em and pee, so it would be the back of the line for me. “After that, you take your plate and you put whatever you want on it,” he said, “just don’t expect it to be good, or you’ll be disappointed.” 

“Right, right,” I replied before we made our way out. Next Sean showed me the biblio, which wasn’t too exciting at all. There were plenty of starry books, most of them about the history of discipline and all that gloopy govereet about duty and the great Bog’s wishes. Then he showed me the football court, where malchicks would meet before supper to play a game or two each Wednesday. They would divide into teams, and Mr. Howlett would viddy the whole veshch over. That sounded pretty horrorshow, as I wasn’t too bad with a soccer ball myself. We were off to the church then, seeing as most of these reform skolliwolls were religious somehow. There was a great bolshy statue of Christ right smack bang in the centre of the back wall. I viddied up at him, and he viddied back with a frown etched into his stone litso. “Dost thou judge me?” I asked, to which Sean chuckled. 

“They don’t force you to come in here,” he told me, “but they like it when you do.” He briefly let me viddy the gym before we went off to the dorms. He showed me the showers in the vaysay, the meeting room, and then finally lead me to the place where I would rest my weary gulliver. Straight away I viddied a real problem. The room was not small, but narrow and long, and it was lined with beds on both sides. You can imagine my dread, O my brothers, when I realised I would be sharing a room with not one, but twelve roommates. The other reform schools had made me share a room with four other vecks at most. “Yarbles!” I yelled. “How do they expect me to breath? I have never ever-” 

“Quiet!” Snapped someone from the door, and I span around real skorry to viddy him narrow his glazzies at me. Sean was silent, standing up all straight like the moodge had been a teacher or something. He didn’t look very starry, maybe about nineteen at most, but he certainly looked like a right prick. Sean nudged my pletcho real hard and I figured I should do as he does, so I stood up straight and gave this chelloveck my full and undivided attention. 

“Sorry, Sir,” I said, avoiding my typical type of goloss, “I was just a bit taken back.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring me down, probably because I was new. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, and Sean looked worried at that, but I acted all like calm despite my confusion. 

“Charles Xavier,” I said. He looked to Sean, or was it down on Sean? 

“Make sure you properly explain to Mr. Xavier how things work at St. Alexander’s,” he said, making his way to the door before he faced us again. “And Mr. Cassidy,“ he continued, and Sean’s glazzies widened like he was actually spooged by this dumb veck, “get a haircut.” Then he was out of the room and down the hall.

“Who was that?” I asked, and Sean took me by the arm and pulled me aside. I would have been angry at being dragged about if I hadn’t been so interested in what he had to say.

“That’s Scott Summers,” he said, “he’s a prefect.” 

“That’s it?” I said, but Sean didn’t think it was something so simple. 

“You’ve been to a lot of reform schools, haven’t you Charles?” He asked, to which I nodded without shame. “St. Alexander’s isn’t like the others, it’s a lot more.. tough.”

“Yeah,” I began, because this I already knew, “so?”

“So?!” He replied, shaking his gulliver. “Look, Charles, if you want to survive this, you better just be polite to Summers and the rest of ‘em, because if you piss those guys off, they’ll make your life really hard,” he said, “trust me.” I didn’t protest because I figured that he knew what he was govereeting about, even if he did look a bit gloopy. 

“I shall heed your warning, my brother,” I said, making my way towards what was to be my bed. I set my bag atop it, pressed my rookers to the mattress and gave it a bit of a shove. Thin! How they expected me to spat on this, I did not know. I opened my bag, searching through the front compartment until I felt the smooth cold skin of my pet snake. Gently, I pulled her from my bag. Sean’s glazzies widened, a rooker pointing up at Cerebra in like, accusation or something like that. 

“That’s a−” 

“Snake,” I finished for him, amused by the poogly look in his glazzies. 

“You’re not allowed to have pets,” he said all hurried, and I nodded because I already figured as much. 

“Well you can’t keep it in here,” he said as she began to weave around my wrist, his litso green just from viddying her.

“Can’t I?” I asked all sarcy, holding her up to my rot so that I could give her a kiss. He cringed at that, but soon glanced at the door all like suspicious that we’d get loveted any moment now. 

“There’s a guy,” he said, goloss quiet, and I leaned in to slooshy him better. 

“Yes?” I asked, stroking her now. 

“He’s final year, but not a prefect, because he’s.. you know, not really like the others,” he said, and I figured that meant the veck in question wasn’t too well behaved. 

“Continue,” I said, nudging him on because he took too long to say anything. 

“Right, well he’s got his own room, well, almost,” he mumbled, “he shares it with another guy. Maybe you can convince him?” He suggested, and I found that pretty promising.

“Well then, lead on, brother!” 

Sean privodeeted me upwards, and I realised then that the dorms were separated by age groups. The higher we got, the older the lot, to put it simply. When we reached what Sean said was the prefects level, them being the eldest students there, I was surprised to see that he wanted us to go higher still. 

“Where to now?” I asked, stepping into what seemed to be the stairway to an attic. I couldn’t pony why somebody would be forced to live up there.

“The nest,” replied Sean, all casual as he ascended the stairs and gave me a clear view of his rear. As we climbed, I felt like I might fall through the floor, for the stairs were starry enough to be a health hazard. Fortunately, your humble narrator did not die, and is able to continue the story. Now I felt ‘the nest’ sounded odd, but when we finally did step into the room, I realised just how fitting it was. It was small and dusty, with two beds on either side and a wide okno that allowed you to viddy out at the entire front grounds. Although this room clearly housed two, only one veck was present; a short but stocky chelloveck with dirty blonde voloss that was cut quite short. The customary uniform of St. Alex’s was a white dress shirt, a red blazer and a pair of grey shorts or pants, depending on the weather, with a black tie to top it all off. This was how I was dressed, and how Sean was dressed too − but the veck before me clearly had not gotten the memo, my friends, for he was wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of black shorts. He looked at me from his seat on the bed, then turned his glazzies to Sean. 

“What’s this about?” He asked, leaning over to retrieve a nozh. Then like all queer, he pulled out a stick and began to sharpen the end into a point. I figured this kid wasn’t quite right in the gulliver, but I said nothing and waited for Sean to explain my situation.

“This is Charles,” he said, to which I nodded in greeting, “he’s new.” There was pause, and it seemed by the look on this guys litso that Sean made us all feel impatient. “He’s got a snake,” he said, and I had to roll my glazzies at how useless Sean really was. 

“Charles,” I said, then waited. 

“Clint. Clint Barton,” he replied as he stripped the outer bark off of that bit of twig. It was really starting to look like a weapon, as I figured was his intention. 

“I’m presented with a problem,” I began, pulling Cerebra out from my blazer. She had been concealed for trip to stop anyone from trying to take my precious darling away from me.

“This is Cerebra, my lovely pet snake, and I would be most grateful if you would allow me to keep her up here,” I said before I slooshied the sound of footsteps coming up those rickety stairs.

“That’s poisonous,” said the newcomer, gesturing to Cerebra before collapsing on the empty bed. Sean took a big step back. 

“No,” I interjected, ready to feed them the same story I had told me em and pee, but I was quickly cut off. 

“Coral snake,” he said, sitting up now. 

“You’re sure, Tony?” Asked Clint, giving me the vecks name. He was the same age as Barton, but not half as serious.

“Yep. I’m sure,” he said, “non-aggressive, but poisonous.”

“I would certainly make it worth your while, my brothers,” I said, looking between them. 

“Not my room,” Tony said, facing Clint, “do you think he’d mind?” Then all was silent, and I tell you now, I was most uncomfortable. Sean was much on the same page but for different reasons, making sure he kept a good distance away from me and my dear Cerebra.

“Who?” I asked, and Tony looked smug. He went to speak but was soon cut off. 

“Don’t say it,” said Clint before looking to me. “My roommate,” he explained, “he’s out right now.” 

“Well, he was,” said Tony, and I was was beginning to think this veck had it out for me, because he seemed pretty amused. What was so amusing, I was yet to pony. 

“Maybe we should come back later-” Sean began, but it was too late, as someone else had just goolied into the nest. Feeling crowded with so many lewdies being in that small room, I backed up to the wall and tucked Cerebra under my arm. 

“Hey guys,” said the chap that entered, and as I viddied him I thought him to be nothing more than your typical geek − a real like, pathetic looking malchick. 

“Bruce,” greeted Tony, but he was smiling at me whilst he did it. 

“Listen, Bruce,” began Clint, setting the nozh aside, “this is Charles. Charles has a pet snake.” 

“A poisonous snake,” added Tony, folding his arms. 

“A poisonous snake,” corrected Clint, “and he wants us to take care of it.”

“That’s stupid,” said Bruce, taking a seat on what I guessed was his own bed.

“He said he’d make it worth our while,” Clint added, “what do we need?”

“Booze!” Said Tony, pointing to Clint who picked up an empty bottle of liquor. Bruce sighed, distracting himself with a book. Glancing over the walls, I viddied how many cutouts of cheenas were put up, their big groodies on display.

“Magazines, the real filthy sort,” I suggested, and there seemed to be mutual agreement in the room.

“Great! You know what else we could do with?” Asked Tony, talking with his hands. “Vellocet, or synthemesc or-”

“Enough!” Barked Bruce, causing everyone to jolt out of shock, Sean especially. I wouldn’t have figured that a veck like that would have such a loud goloss, nor would I have guessed he could switch his mood so skorry. “We’ll take care of the snake, just, go,” he mumbled, suddenly shy.

“Many thanks, brothers, many thanks indeed,” I said, holding Cerebra out in front of me.

“If someone gets bitten, you’re dead,” Tony threatened as he carefully took her from me.

“Non-aggressive, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint, “but we’re not feeding it, and you can bet that we won’t be doing this for free,” he said, swatting his rooker at us. No doubt he wanted us gone, so ookadeet we did.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing [Casey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence) and [Somerley!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Somerley)
> 
> Feedback is most welcomed.


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